The More Things Change
by AkaOkamiRyu
Summary: A series of drabbleesque fics that cover many different characters, many different topics, and many different themes. They vary in length and content, and take place after XMen: The Last Stand. Rating for occasional language.
1. i Skin, Chess, Time

The More Things Change

Hey everyone! Wow, I haven't written, finished, and published anything in ages! I've been so busy with high school, that I can never finish a story I start. Anyways, I'm back in a new genre. I've never done any X-Men before, well, not published anyway, but I've done some writing for it and a ton of role-playing, so hopefully this series will be alright.

The More Things Change is going to be a series of drabble-esque fics on a variety of topics. Every 'chapter' with have a couple of separate fics within it, sometimes connected, sometimes not connected. My first three are connected by a vaguely common theme, which I hope you'll catch. It's subtler in the first, obvious in the second, and I'm not sure about the third.

Lesse, what else do I need to mention? Oh, all stories will take place after X-Men: The Last Stand, unless, for whatever reason, it is specifically mentioned otherwise.

And as always, I do not own, X-Men or anything related to it. I'm just a fan who likes to write and is occasionally bitten by the inspiration bug.

* * *

Touch

She thought that being cured would fix things. She thought that being able to touch again would feel like a rebirth. A miracle. How often had she imagined what it would be like to once again feel another's flesh? To feel the soft, lingering warmth of some one else's skin? To be able to shake hands without gloves and hug without fear? To kiss those she loved?

She had even dreamt of it. Sweet, warm, comforting dreams of people and touch and normalcy. She had missed being normal. Missed not having to be cautious about what she wore, what she didn't wear.

Sometimes though, she hadn't missed it so much. Living at Xavier's had often made her forget herself and her self proclaimed curse. But then she would remember again, and the longing and desire would return, sharper than ever.

Marie had always thought that being able to touch again would be a dream come true.

She had not imagined, however, that the warmth of another's skin would be dulled by the gaping whole that filled her at the contact. The cold truth of knowing that that ability, that touch, was only possible because she had done something awful. She had sacrificed herself. Given up a part of her that she was never meant to lose.

And she would give anything to take it back.

…

Marie looked up suddenly as a knock broke the silence of her room. A bare hand reached immediately up to wipe away the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Come in." She said, softly, knowing exactly who was at the door.

Bobby walked in, his eyes gentle, and took a seat on the bed. Wordlessly he reached for Marie's hand and took it in his own.

And suddenly, unexpectedly, Marie felt warm. She felt right. Felt like herself again.

* * *

Chess

He stared at the pieces as though they might come alive before his very eyes. He watched them sharply, as though they might be able to answer his questions. His eyes pleaded with them, as though they might be moved to take pity on him. But they did not come alive, they gave no answers, and they spoke no words of solace or comfort.

He had never much cared for chess, to be honest. Neither had Charles. Yet they had always played. Why? The answer was as simple as it was complex, with more answers than he'd ever be able to voice. They played because their moves, their decisions, their every action spoke more then either man could. They played because when they played, they weren't Xavier and Magneto, they weren't mutants, or men, or anything else besides the only thing that really mattered.

They played because while they were playing, all they were was friends. Or at least, that's how it had been for a long while. Towards the end playing became a formality and an excuse. An obligation neither had the heart nor the desire to give up on and an excuse to just talk, as they once had.

He had thought when he came to this place, that there might be some comfort to be drawn from the familiarity of it all. He had imagined that sitting before that same board would allow him to slip back into the past and forget everything that had changed.

Charles dead. His powers gone. His hopes, his dreams, his ambitions and his future all turned to dust in the aftermath of those losses.

He was a fool, he supposed, to have thought that being there would change things, even for just a moment. And yet, as he continued to stare at the board, at the pieces all lined up in neat, perfect procession, he did begin to feel different. Better, maybe, if only a little bit.

Heartened by this sudden feeling, he lifted his hand and brought it over the board. For a long moment it hung above it as he pondered his first move. A move Charles would have been proud of. But as his hand descended to move his first pawn something happened. Something he did not believe at first. Something he had not imagined would ever happen again.

A miracle? Perhaps, if he were the type of man to believe in such things. Yet he could not help but think, as the pawn again wobbled and then fell, that if there was truly any truth to miracles, that he would gladly trade this one to have Charles sitting on the other side of that board.

* * *

Time

Time is a great healer. Or so they say. They say it heals all wounds. Physical, emotional, psychological, all made magically better by the passage of another second, another minute, another hour, another day.

Damn load of shit, as far as she was concerned.

Time had not made the pain of her family's betrayal any duller. No, it had remained as sharp as ever, even if she kept that securely hidden from everyone around her. She might claim to want nothing to do with them, would have sworn her life to that fact, but she knew it was a lie. And every day that she woke, that she lived and breathed and existed, she felt that pain. Every time she saw a happy family the pain would be as fresh and raw as the day she'd left them.

Likewise, time was not making her most recent betrayal any easier. She could have died for him, did, really, in all the ways that mattered, and yet he left her. Left her shaking on the floor of that convoy; naked, cold, alone. Everyday she would feel it, she knew. It might, maybe, be easier, but it would not go away. It would always ache, maybe dully but ever present, and some days it would flare up unexpectedly.

Raven had no faith in time. It was not the great healer. It would not make her losses any easier to suffer through, would not make the sting of them any less potent.

And it would not make her Mystique again. Time did not have that power either.

Time could claim all the power and magic it wished, but that would not make her a believer.

…

Raven downed a glass of water so cold it made her chest ache before walking over to the mirror in her apartment. She reached a pale hand up to tuck a stray stand of her dark hair behind her ear, and stopped. Her eyes, her green eyes, narrowed at her reflection in the mirror. She thought. No. It was impossible. Time could not heal everything. Time could not heal this. Could it?

* * *

That's it for this edition of The More Things Change.

Hmm, anything I need to explain out?

Well, just to reiterate. Touch was about Rogue, Chess was Erik, and Time was Raven. These three were connected, in some small way, but that doesn't mean my updates will always have stories that are connected. I hope you guys enjoyed this; I'm not sure how I feel about it. I've been dabbling with Touch for a long while, planning Chess for a bit, but Time was written just now, and I'm not altogether that fond of it. I think it's pretty erratic, but that's for you guys to decide.

At any rate, I hope you liked it. I'm not exactly certain what my next update will entail, although I would say you can expect a Warren story, and who knows what else, whenever I manage to find the time to write a few drabbles up.

-AkaOkamiRyu


	2. ii Providence, Fitting, ABC's

The More Things Change, installment II

Hey everybody! I'm back again with installment II, as I've decided to call it. It's been a while since I posted the first three, but I've been bogged down with school. I really shouldn't have had time for this, but I wrote the Providence because I got an idea and decided to use bring it for my Writer's Guild meeting. Then Fitting hit me, and ABC's was just kind of this random idea I got. not entirely sure I like how it turned out, I think I rushed it a bit.

Again, all take place after Last Stand. Providence and Fitting involve in OC, but really it's not all that important. You only really needed to know, as of now at any rate, that she's a senior at the school, member of the X-Men, and has been there for years. Her power is to turn into a panther. While she is the center, or at the center, of these two pieces, it's really only because, for Fitting at least, I wanted to write it in a perspective that wasn't quite like the other students. In Providence I just kind of starting using her without much thought, as she's a character I've Rped a lot in the past.

And as always, I do not own, X-Men or anything related to it.

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Providence

She watches him as he flies through the air, an angel on angel's wings, soaring through the cloudless heavens. She wonders what it is like, to be so free, to be able to go wherever you want, no worries, no cares, just open skies and air currents.

It isn't that she's not free, that she couldn't leave if she wanted, it's just that there are so many strings. This is her home, the people here are her friends, her family. She has a job to do, a cause to fight for. Commitments. Ties. She has a past here. A history. Memories. Don't get her wrong, she loves the strings; they're what make her who she is. She likes belonging. It's just that sometimes she wishes she could, just for a little while, fly unburdened. No fences, no boundaries. Nothing to hold her back. After all, every girl, every animal, in some part of their heart, wants to be wild and unattached.

…

He watches her as she prowls through the gardens and around the lake, a sleek, black shadow on feline paws, weaving through the grass. He wonders what it is like, to be so grounded. To belong somewhere, to be loved and be important, rooted to a real home, no need to run, or fly, away.

It isn't that he doesn't belong, that he's homeless. It's already been made abundantly clear that he is welcome and accepted here, it's just that this is so new to him. Belonging, being cared for, having someplace you look forward to coming back to. don't' get him wrong, he loves flying, love being free to do what he chooses, to see what he wants to see, to go where he wants to go. It's just that sometimes he wishes there was a place he could have memories of, and tell stories about. That he had a common ground, a familiar territory instead of all this changing landscape. After all, even angels need a heaven to come back to.

…

They watch one another, unaware. Depthless emerald sees an unbound angel, as uninhibited as the wind. Crystal blue sees an ingrained panther, as essential as the shadows. Neither sees the dull smoldering of faint envy. Neither sees the hidden wish for even a fleeting moment in the other's skin. Neither realizes the paradoxical providence In their truest forms and their contradictory desires. Most of all, neither seems to notice the constant, intense, longing gaze of the other.

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Fitting

It is raining. Not heavily. It is a slow, steady, constant rain that is never seems to get any better or any worse. The air is slightly gentle, no wind blows, but it is cold, somewhere below the surface. Numbing maybe, if she wasn't already so numb. The sky is grey, a dark heavy tone of the color that serves to completely stomp out any defiant stirring of cheerfulness which might attempt to make a stand.

It is all rather depressing, but she finds that somewhat fitting, as she gazes unseeingly forward. She has been sitting out here so long that it is almost as if none of this exists- the rain, the chill, the soaked and muddy earth she sits on. Almost, but not quite, she thinks, as a shiver runs rampant through her body.

Her gaze is before her, but it is unfocused, she neither needs nor desires to see anything in front of her. The only thing that she needs to see or perhaps wants to see is deep within her mind's eye, and that too is blurry, just a patch of incongruous grey color against an otherwise blank canvas. She really doesn't need to see that either, if truth be told. She feels is. She always feels its heavy presence in the back of her mind these days. The fact that she physically feels it not, pressed tightly against her soaked back, in inconsequential.

It is always with her, regardless of where she is. It guides her actions, gives her some unknown strength when she feels as though there is nothing worth fighting for any more.

That too, is fitting, she supposes. After all, she has always leaned on him for support. Why should there be anything different about his grave?

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ABC's

It is a class project, a ridiculous one in Kitty's opinion. The alphabet. What are they? Five?

Yet somehow their teacher, Mrs. Hawley who is still fairly new to the Institute and the school and whose power of speed reading is particularly dull, though probably useful in its own right, doesn't agree with Kitty's sentiments. No matter how passionately she argues against it in the final, precious moments of class as everyone around her scrambles to get as much of it done as humanly, or perhaps mutantly, possible, while trying to inconspicuously pack up their things.

Kitty is still seething quietly as she sits awake in her room that night. What is she going to write her 'ABC's' on? They are suppose to come up with a topic for their alphabet and then come up with a word or a word in a phrase for each letter that applies. The example given was, of course, English. Mrs. Hawley's ABC's of English. A is for appositive, B is for book, C is for creative, as in, make sure your thesis statements are creative, and so on. She still doesn't understand why they are wasting their time. Mrs. Hawley says it is suppose to be fun and thought provoking. A challenge for the mind and the imagination. Kitty thinks Mrs. Hawley has finally snapped her last piece of chalk, and how is that for a metaphor for crazy, Mrs. Too-Cheerful-English-Teacher?

Still, she is getting sick of not being done and venting to Jubilee, who finished her own list in class, because really, it's not getting her finished. And Jubilee is starting to threaten her with firecrackers if she doesn't stop anyway. So, with one final exasperated sigh, she puts her pencil on her paper and gets started.

…

Kitty feels rather proud when she turns in her paper the next day, satisfied that she has certainly earned a good grade on this assignment that was so entirely pointless. She thinks Mrs. Hawley will probably appreciate it as well.

…

The ABC's of being an X-Men

A is for always, as in 'always be ready for anything.'

B is for brooding, which is the most dangerous type of Wolverine to interrupt.

C is for creative, as in 'be creative when making up excuses and battle strategies.'

D is for Danger Room. Self explanatory.

E is for everyone, as in 'if anyone makes a mistake, everyone will repeat the workout.'

F is for fear, which is an often displayed emotion when Wolverine is behind the Blackbird's controls.

G is for gravy, which Bobby hates but Rogue loves.

H is for hot, like Peter when he's working out.

I is for ice cream, which the freezer always seems to be devoid of.

J is for Jubilee.

K is for karate, which comes in handy when the boys get cocky.

L is for lessons, which we all suffer through daily.

M is for movie night, also known as the best night of the week.

N is for never, like never give up.

O is for ocean, which we fly over in the Black Bird.

P is for pool, where we all love to hang when we can.

Q is for quality, because it's a hard letter.

R is for responsible, which everyone wants us to be.

S is for school, which young X-Men must attend

T is for teamwork, which is 'our greatest asset' or so says Storm.

U is for unity, which is much the same as teamwork.

V is for victory, which we always attain in the end.

W is for welcome, because anyone is welcome.

X is for X-Men, of course!

Y is for yelling, because someone is always yelling here.

Z is for zoo, because with all the different people and powers and things going on, this place can be like a zoo.

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That's installment II folks. I hoped you liked it. Now, I think I have a comment or two on the stories, now that you've read them. Not much for Providence, although I realized after I'd written it, when it was pointed out to me by the other Writer's Guild members, that it kind of undertones some romance. I honestly had not intended then when I wrote it, but now that I see it, I may dabble in making a follow up to it. And it is a Warren, at least partially so, story like I had said I'd probably write.

I've also realized that the grave that is referred to in Fitting isn't actually specified to anyone. I had actually given more clues, some clues, in the original version, but when I tried to figure out just how to finish it up I realized that it was better cut off where it is, so all hints ran away. It is actually not Xavier to whom she is referring, but rather Scott. I may write more little stories regarding her own, and perhaps others, mourning of Scott, because I find it sad that there isn't really any in the film. Everyone is sad about Xavier I was too, of course, and Scott, and Wolverine and some of the others get rather torn up over Jean, but it didn't seem to me that anyone had actually mourned for Scott. Which I find sad, because I think there are/were a lot of good points to Scott. Anyhow, so that's kinda part of my tribute to him. I imagine there will be more.

ABC's is just random. Not gonna lie. I think some of them are rather reaching, but I wanted to get this up. I may fix it at a later date, who knows. Sorry.

No real connecting theme in this one. Some times it works out that way.

Until Next Time,

AkaOkamiRyu


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